


Clandestine Rendezvous

by ZoS



Series: Children Will Listen [2]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: Prequel to Scaredy-Cat. Also completely works as a standalone.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Series: Children Will Listen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885495
Comments: 12
Kudos: 169





	Clandestine Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a prequel to _Scaredy-Cat_ , but if you don't feel like reading the latter, please enjoy this fic as a gratuitous piece of pure smut with not much in the way of a plot.
> 
> Also, many of you have requested a _sequel_ of the morning after so I'm currently considering ways I could write it without ruining the original. Never say never, right?

The moment her bedroom door closes behind them, Miranda drops all pretense of not wanting it. She welcomes Andrea's kiss with eager pliability, and although the door handle jams into her back, she runs her hands up and down the soft chiffon at Andrea's own back and makes no attempt to move.

"The kids?" Andrea asks against her lips, the vibration of her words sending a tingle that starts there and settles between Miranda's legs.

Before she can form an answer, though, Andrea's damp mouth is on her neck, the floral scent of her shampoo is in her nose, and she tilts her head to the side. All she can muster on a breathy whisper is, "Asleep."

"So we have to be quiet?" Andrea says and even though Miranda can't see her face, she knows she's smirking against her skin, can feel the mischievous curve of her lips where they press a kiss to her pulse point. She gasps.

Time to change gears.

Her hands slide down Andrea's back until they're cupping and squeezing those two lovely globes she loves so much and it's Andrea's turn then to gasp even as her smile widens and her tongue pokes out to trace the faint lines at Miranda's throat. "Mhm," Miranda hums, but it comes out closer to a moan. She squeezes Andrea's ass again and walks her backward, further into the room. "Think you can manage?"

Andrea doesn't get a chance to respond with anything more eloquent than a snicker. They come to a stop when the backs of her knees bump against the bed and Miranda then completes the task of pushing her down on the mattres. She lands with a surprised "Oof" and a delighted smile, her hair fanned out everywhere, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs. "Do you like my dress?" she asks sweetly, deceptively innocently, while running pale hands across the contrasting deep green of the material, touching hips and belly and breasts. "I wore it for you."

It's a stunning dress, all right: light and short and nearly sheer enough to satisfy Miranda's hunger. The cleavage beautifully accentuates Andrea's bust and the fabric clings to and flows around her body like it was made specifically for her, and with her fair skin and dark hair, the cut and color almost make her look like a forest nymph. But Miranda cares more about what's underneath the garment, and her scorching gaze answers Andrea and remains on her while Miranda's robe drops in a puddle on the floor around her feet, leaving her clad in a scarce, silk gown.

"What else did you wear for me?" she asks, satisfied with the huskiness in her tone, while crawling toward Andrea, who slithers backward toward the pillows, looking almost like a timid prey, and if it weren't for her smirk and the hardening of her nipples that's visible under the thin fabric of the dress, it might have worked.

Miranda answers her own question when she settles between her legs and slides both hands underneath her skirt. There she encounters lace, soft and decadent against her fingers, and a surge of heat courses through her body. It's a very nice piece of clothing, but-- "Let's get these off, shall we?"

The quickening of Andrea's breath is enough incentive to hook her fingers into the waistband and slowly pull down long, smooth legs until all she has in her hand is a crumpled lump of lace and Andrea's heady scent beckons her closer.

She smells even better up close. And she's wet--so wet that Miranda can't resist the temptation to lean in and have a taste, before anything else. Andrea's resulting moan, however, and the undulation of her back upon contact renders Miranda an addict, and she supposes that if Andrea can skip foreplay, then so can she.

She settles comfortably on her stomach, wraps her arms aroung trembling thighs, parts two moistened folds, and dives in.

By the time two sweaty thighs trap her head between them and Andrea's body shudders with the aftershocks she plucks out of her, a good portion of Miranda's face is soaked and her tongue is halfway to numb. But she's satisfied, experiencing Andrea's pleasure vicariously through the noises she emits and the squirming of her hips.

That's not to say that when she finds herself pushed onto her back, she's not filled with enthusiastic anticipation, and when Andrea straddles and seats herself on her lap, cheeks rosy and hair tousled, she practically aches for her touch.

She watches hungrily, mesmerized, as Andrea's hands disappear behind her back and the sound of a zipper opening, loud against the contrasting silence of the night, follows, and barely dares to blink when the chiffon garment is slowly lowered down Andrea's arms and midsection, settling to rest on her hips and revealing a pair of perfect breasts, always so new, always so tantalizing. She generously allows Miranda to cup two handfuls and the supple weight of them in her hands, also as astonishing as it was the first time, short-circuits Miranda's brain right on cue.

She makes to sit up, wants to get at them with her mouth as well, but is pushed back down onto her pillow. Maybe there is some merit to not being a size zero, she muzzily muses, because Andrea is strong enough to pin her down so she has neither the ability nor will to disobey.

"My turn," Andrea announces, her voice dripping with sex, and bends down to kiss her. However, she loses at her own game the moment their tongues meet and she encounters her taste; she gets lost in the kiss, her body melting into Miranda's, and Miranda takes the opportunity to flip them.

Victorious, she lets go of Andrea's red, swollen lips and sits up on her knees. Then it's Andrea's turn to watch with avid eyes as she grabs the hem of her nightgown and, in a swift and smooth motion, slips it over her head and tosses it somewhere into the darkness.

"Very nice," Andrea approves with a predatory grin and, for good measure, bites her lip. She places both hands on either of Miranda's bare hips and says, "Come up here."

And, for once, Miranda is happy--eager--to oblige. With shaking legs, she climbs up Andrea's body and settles over her head, and she barely gets a chance to steady herself against the headboard before Andrea's hold grows firmer on her hips, pulling her down toward that nimble, maddening tongue.

Her yelp is barely muffled with a hard bite to her own lip, but soon morphs into a long sigh as Andrea works her hungrily, not leaving an inch, it seems, unattended to. It's all Miranda can do not to scream or ride her face until her nose breaks, and soon she can't think about anything besides that earth-shattering, excruciating pleasure.

"Yes... yes..." she whispers, her eyes screwed shut, her face scrunched up in concentration with the promise of her impending release. A few more licks, a few more moans, a few more muscles that'll definitely ache come morning, and she's coming and rocking her hips and trying, with the last vestiges of sanity, to keep from crying out.

Spent and exhausted, she collapses onto the mattress, panting through her nose, throwing an arm over her eyes. Her heart pounds everywhere: in her chest, her temples, her clit. Her mouth is dry, her muscles quiver all over, and through her returning consciousness, she registers a sweat-slick body cozying up to her; some time between her orgasm and the world righting itself on its axis, Andrea has stripped off her dress completely.

Andrea kisses her shoulder, strokes her hair, and patiently waits for her to regain her composure. In a moment, they'll be ready for another round, and perhaps after that another, but in the meantime, Andrea draws the blanket over them both and lays her head next to hers.

In the morning, she'll be gone, off to her crazy-hour job and escaping the eyes of twin girls Miranda has no idea what to say to. Right now, lying close to one another, breathing in the smells of sweat, sex, and each other, they fall asleep.


End file.
